


Girl, Ease My Mind

by kikitheslayer



Category: Community (TV)
Genre: Britta and her Terrible Horrible No Good Very Bad Logic, F/F, Kissing, Missing Scene, honestly theres no point to this its like a pwp without the porn
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-10-07
Updated: 2016-10-07
Packaged: 2018-08-19 23:37:36
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 918
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8228627
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kikitheslayer/pseuds/kikitheslayer
Summary: Britta was startled by a knock on her door -- a hammering, really, loud and insistent.





	

Britta slide down her bedroom wall, letting out a short, miserable whimper. She scooped up one of her cats, cradling the squirming ball of fur against her, oblivious to its yowls of protest. She briefly rested her head in its soft gray fur.

Her apartment was as beaten-down as ever, a desert of beige carpet interrupted by the occasional crate or dying plant. Up the walls ran cracks she had tried half-heartedly to cover with posters from bands and protests. A thin layer of dust coated the whole room -- she hadn’t had the energy to vacuum like she had meant to -- and the burned out bulbs cast the place in a dim, tiring light.

Britta’s apartment, she thought mournfully, was like a liminal space. She had been there for years, and it still didn’t feel permanent. She couldn’t imagine staying, couldn’t imagine roots or chains or anything linking her to its sorry single bedroom.

It had always been like that, ever since she had stared at the ceiling of her childhood bedroom and planned her escape, promised that she would have more, even if that only meant a different expanse of plaster. It had been like that in the van she’d took off in after packing cash and Radio Head CDs and not much else. It had been like that in her apartment in New York, where she ate ramen noodles on the floor and listened to the yells and traffic outside. It had been like that in Europe, in Chicago, in her few brief months in Utah. She had never really learned to unpack.

She didn’t always linger on this, of course. There were days she loved her tiny apartment, days when the only things her eyes fixed on her were her empty mason jars and the shelf of feminist poetry, her cats and framed picture of the study group. Days when she applauded herself on her living room’s subversiveness, the way the bare walls and lack of a TV set her outside the typical constraints of capitalism. But today, she was already feeling pathetic, and she thought it best to wallow.

Britta had kissed a girl, kissed Page -- Page, who wasn’t even a lesbian.

Not that there was anything wrong with kissing girls in general. But it it mattered who did it and how. Lesbians could kiss girls, and girls could kiss lesbians. That was experimentation, a healthy exploration of female sexuality. But what was two straight girls kissing on a crowded dance floor but the exploitation and sexualization of LBPQ women? It was downright homophobic.

And what was it if one of them wanted to do it again?

She sat curled on her floor in ripped-up, fleece pajamas until she was startled by a knock on her door -- a hammering, really, loud and insistent.

She pushed herself up and glanced through the peephole. To her surprise, there stood Page, still dressed like she had been at the dance, though now she looked about ready to bolt; she kept shifting from foot to foot, glancing down the hallway.

Unlatching the door, she wracked her brain for something to say that sounded at once casual and clever, but came up empty.

She never got the chance to embarrass herself. There was a split-second, after she opened the door, when she and Page looked at each other, and then Page threw herself forward, captured Britta face in between her hands and pressed their lips together. She pulled back suddenly, leaving their faces so close together that Britta could feel warm breath on her face, smell the almost bitter scent of coffee that clung to Page wherever she went. “Do you consent to this?” asked Page, her stare intense, her breath just this side of ragged.

Britta responded by leaning in, sliding a hand to the back of Page’s neck.

They kissed in Britta’s doorway for a moment, and it everything the tentative, cringing kisses of the dance ance had not been. Other people were the last thing on Britta’s mind.

Britta maneuvered Page into her apartment, a series of awkward steps back and tugs on her shirt. Britta swung the door shut and they backed up until Britta’s back hit the wall. She sank a little, her arms wrapped around Page’s neck.

Page tangled a hand in the back of Britta’s hair. She let her mouth drift off its course, dragging kisses down her jaw and neck.

Britta moaned, capturing Page’s lip between her teeth for a moment before returning to her slow exploration of her mouth. She hesitated a moment before placing a hand over Page’s hip, running her fingers down a strip of warm, pale skin where her t-shirt had hitched up. She felt Page shudder under her touch.

It was like mixing paint, Britta thought, or looking through a kaleidoscope. An indistinguishable blend of feelings and tastes and sounds -- Page’s hands steady on her back, the tight feel of elastic as Britta wedged her fingers into Page’s waistband, Page’s tongue licking a hot stripe over Britta’s stomach, Britta’s own voice making sounds she couldn’t identify as words.

When they parted, finally, gasping for breath and still on Britta’s living room floor, Britta leaned against the wall. Her eyes followed up one of the cracks in the plaster. Britta's tired mind could only conjure up the metaphor she most related to at the moment: it was like a lightning bolt, like energy and magic creeping up your spine and whiting out everything else.

It was beautiful.

**Author's Note:**

> Title from "Ease My Mind" by Haley Kiyoko.
> 
> Everybody go check out/create content for community rarepair month at communityrarepairs.tumblr.com !!


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